


Part Of Your World

by amberfox17



Series: Actual Disney Princes Thor and Loki [4]
Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Disney, Alternate Universe - The Little Mermaid, Crossdressing, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-25
Updated: 2014-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-26 12:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1688024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amberfox17/pseuds/amberfox17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Little Mermaid, Thorki version or, how jotun-mer-Loki won himself a prince and a pair of legs, not necessarily in that order.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Part Of Your World

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [mrhiddles art](http://mrhiddles.tumblr.com/post/37602432382)  
> Update! [mrhiddles drew gorgeous art for this story!!](http://amberfox17.tumblr.com/post/86890444963)

Loki runs a hand over the human’s damp flesh, fascinated by its honeyed colour and soft downy fur. He had saved the prince on a whim, after admiring his muscular body and handsome face from the bow of the ship, and in truth he had done so mostly for this: his first opportunity to touch and smell and taste a living man.

He kisses the prince’s cold mouth and feels his tiny sigh against his lips.

The prince’s eyes are half open, but he seems insensible and besides, what is a merman to a human? A fever dream, a nightmare, a tale no-one will believe.

Loki has always longed to know more of the landfolk, to see their world and unravel their secrets. But now, with this man lying beneath him, with the blue of the sky in his eyes and the gold of the sun in his hair, his vague wants crystallises into a desire as sharp as a blade.

He kisses him again, and the lips move beneath him, sluggishly and without real effort. The prince may be only breathing, or murmuring in his sleep, but Loki drinks him down, swallows his taste and feels only a vast, aching hunger for more.

A dog’s bark alerts him to danger and with one swift movement he abandons the shore and his prize to skulk just off the breakwater, watching jealously as other humans lift his prince up and carry him away.

“I want him,” Loki says aloud, punctuating the words with a tail slap, and then he dives.

*

“I want your silver tongue,” the sea-witch says.

Loki narrows his eyes at her. “For what purpose?”

“What does it matter?” Angrboda says, sea-serpents dancing through her hair. “That is my price. Do you want legs or not?”

Loki hesitates. But the lure of the land and the golden prince is too strong.

“Name your bargain,” he says and the sea-witch smiles.

*

His new legs are as feeble as seaweed and he stumbles and falls over and over as he struggles from the sea to the shore. But each time he pushes himself up by his hands and stands tall, he gets a little stronger. He dearly misses the ability to curse though.

He examines himself curiously, intrigued by the strange new flesh between his legs. To have it all just dangling there, so vulnerable and exposed! It seems soft and tiny compared to what he had before, but as he examines it, testing the consistency and soft, velvety skin, it begins to grow and once he gets used to its peculiarities, he brings himself to pleasure with a soft cry.

He rather likes it, and he cannot wait to see how it compares to his prince’s.

*

It’s not until he draws closer to the castle that he realises that he is naked and all the other humans clothed. His new milky skin is dry and turning pink in the heat of the sun; he must look like a beached walrus, he thinks in disgust, trying to run his fingers through his long hair and finding thick mats and tangles where it has dried stiff with salt. He will never catch a prince like this.

He lurks in the shadows, watching the landfolk intently, until he is confident in what he sees. Most of the men who are dressed like his prince are either with or pursuing companions with long hair, intricately bound and adorned, and long, shimmering skirts that remind him of his discarded tail.

He waits until one such human is alone and then springs upon her as he would upon a shoal of fish. She struggles, but he bears her down until she is still and quiet, and then he strips her and dresses as best he can. He cannot manage his hair in her style, but he takes her pins and clips and piles his own atop his head.

He makes his way to the castle with his head held high, ignoring the startled looks of the townspeople. They are nothing to him.

*

Days later, he knows enough to laugh at his naivety – or, he would, could he make a sound. It is not only his speech Angrboda took: he cannot laugh or hum or whistle or even scream. A huff of breath is the best he can do. He is completely muzzled.

Still, his prince, whom he now knows to call Thor when his voice is returned, does not seem to mind. He is kind and good and Loki itches to know him fully, to taste his lips and sunkissed flesh, to know him intimately and know what human love is like.

But Thor gently and firmly rebuffs every embrace Loki offers. He does not seem angry, nor indifferent – Loki feels his eyes on him, knows he saw a flash of desire when he arrived and lifted his skirts for him. But Thor still draws away, murmuring nonsense about shock and strangers and honour.

Loki stamps his foot and shatters a vase, but without a tongue to cajole him with, Thor remains unmoved.

*

Loki watches and learns and sets little traps, letting himself be discovered bathing, dressing, dancing with all the grace of his seaborn self, undulating and rippling like the tide. Thor stares and stares and cannot look away, and his voice grows rough and ragged as Loki presses himself against him.

“I do not know where you are from,” he says, rumbling like thunder, “and what is done in your country, but I cannot believe that you do not know what you are doing to me.”

Loki laps at his throat and tastes the familiar salt of his sweat.

“We cannot,” Thor says, eyes screwed tight, hands gripping Loki’s waist tightly. “I must not. It is forbidden.”

Loki’s hand is halfway down his trousers before Thor pushes him away and beats a hasty retreat.

Loki tries to hiss in displeasure, but even that is denied to him.

*

He half expects Thor to avoid him after that, but Thor seems as drawn to him as he is to Thor, and they orbit each other in a stately, reserved dance to a tune not at all of Loki’s liking.

Thor may not hold him as he wishes, but he speaks often to him, and in quite a different way to the other humans of his court. Their ways are new and strange to Loki, and while he finds them fascinating, as he has always found their trinkets fascinating, he sees no sense in them. Thor is careful and restrained with them, and speaks of wars and taxes, of duty and responsibility and other dry things, but with Loki he laughs wildly and talks animatedly about adventure and magical beasts and, over and over, the mysterious blue seacreature that saved him.

There is a far-off gleam in his eye as he describes to Loki his own sapphire skin, his intricate markings, his mane of dark hair. He speaks longingly of the ruby eyes and savage smile, the wicked claws and sharp fins, the shimmering scales and sinuous grace.

“I would give anything to see him again,” Thor sighs and Loki half-throttles him in frustration.

*

Still, there is some progression being made. Thor spends more and more time with Loki, ostensibly teaching his strange guest to read and write, in the hope that they can communicate; in reality, he and Loki sneak out for mischief and mayhem across the countryside, and now, when Loki slides an arm around Thor’s waist he does not pull away. Loki presses a soft kiss to Thor’s curiously bristled cheek and feels him shudder – he will not let him kiss his mouth, groaning when Loki tries, but he does not shove Loki from his lap, and Loki turns his attention to combing his hair, confident he is getting closer.

“What are you leading me to?” Thor moans as Loki rocks into him, skirts spread decorously across them so no-one can see how their legs are entwined. “This is madness.”

Loki reaches for his mouth again and sucks on Thor’s thumb when he is denied.

Thor’s eyes are heavy and half-lidded. “Who _are_ you?” he asks, voice thick, but Loki cannot answer.

*

Jarnsaxa arrives in the palace the next day.

She is a princess from across the sea, Thor explains to Loki, a strange new light in his eyes. He is going to marry her.

Loki has to be dragged away, mouth open but no sound emerging, a chunk of Thor’s hair held tightly in his fist.

Loki tries to stab Jarnsaxa that night with a knife stolen from the kitchens. She laughs at him as her serpents pin him to the floor, and Loki sees her fair skin and blue eyes ripple, sees the cobalt flesh and blood-red gaze.

 _Angrboda_ , he mouths furiously, but she only laughs harder.

*

Loki chases after Thor with every skill in his arsenal, trying desperately to hold his attention and win his caress. But Thor has eyes only for Jarnsaxa, who woos him with her silvery laugh and enchanting tales, her cunning and her humour and sweet, sly promises.

They are all Loki’s and he wants to howl in despair.

The wedding barge sets sail at sunset. Loki’s time is up: he has failed to win Thor’s love and now he will lose his legs and his freedom. The thought is almost as painful as picturing Angrboda-Jarnsaxa’s legs wrapped around Thor, her head tipped back as he loves her, as she takes what is Loki’s and cries out in Loki’s voice.

If Loki cannot have him, no-one will.

*

The blade slides easily between Thor’s ribs and for a moment they are frozen, locked in an embrace, Thor’s eyes wide and clear.

“No,” Angrboda snarls, but the sun has set and her spell is broken.

The pain is even worse this time, Loki’s bones cracking and splintering, fusing back together as he collapses to the floor, every joint and sinew in agony as his humanity is ripped from him.

Thor looks down on him, mouth open, hand pressed to the wound in his side.

“You,” he chokes.

“My name is Loki,” Loki says, voice hoarse with disuse. “And all I wanted was to love you.”

*

The battle is fierce, but Loki’s rage will not be denied, and soon enough Angrboda is dead, food for her serpents and the crawling things of the greater deep. Her other slaves scatter in terror or ecstasy and Loki makes his way to the surface where he can sob in peace without the sound carrying to his underwater kin.

He hauls out on a rock near the beach where he first kissed Thor, curling his long emerald tail underneath him as he combs his hair, singing a lament for all he has lost.

“Loki,” says his Prince, thin and haggard in a rowboat. “I have been looking for you.”

“I cannot return to the land,” Loki says dully. “The witch is dead.”

“I have been consulting with magicians, sorcerers and wizards,” Thor says, mooring alongside. “Tell me, what was the bargain you struck?”

“I gave her my voice for my legs,” Loki says. “For nine nights and nine days of humanity. If I won your love, I could remain human forever. If you loved another, I would become her slave.”

“You did win my love,” Thor says, reaching out to stroke his cheek. “It was only through enchantment that she took me from you.”

Loki shakes his head sadly. “This is old magic,” he says, “born of blood and bone. Your _feelings_ were not enough. I had to have your flesh in my flesh, your seed in my body. Once she had that from you instead of me, I was doomed to return to the sea.”

Thor’s grip tightens and his eyes sparkle. “But I did not bed her,” he says quickly. “Loki, I have given no-one my love since you saved me.”

“It does not matter,” Loki says angrily, knocking his hand aside. “You would not take me when I had my legs, no matter what I tried. And now it is too late.”

“No,” Thor says, catching his face in his hands. “It does not have to be. What were the exact words of your bargain with the sea-witch?”

“As I said,” Loki says. “If I won your love, I could be human forever.”

“Could _be_ human? Or could _remain_ human?”

Loki frowns, thinking back. “Could _be_ ,” he says finally, heart beginning to race. “And there was no mention of time in that part –the nine nights and nine days were only the conditions of the spell for my _legs_.”

“She tricked you,” Thor says earnestly, gaze fixed on Loki. “You lost your legs at the end of the nine days, but that was all. You were not truly her slave – you only thought you were. And if you win my love now -”

“I will be human again,” Loki breathes, gills fluttering.

“If you want to be,” Thor says, expression pleading. “If you want to stay with me.”

“Oh,” Loki says, “oh, _yes_ ,” and he surges forward, crushing his mouth to Thor’s, kissing him with all the hunger of the restless sea, and Thor meets him with the heat and passion of the sun, and between the salt and the spray, Loki sacrifices his tail for Thor’s love and Thor’s flesh.

After, he wraps his long, limber legs around Thor’s waist and begs him to begin again, and Thor gives him everything he has, again and again and again.

“I love you,” he moans into Loki’s open mouth and Loki drinks the words down.

“Mine,” he says triumphantly, breath rasping in his remade lungs, and later, when he steps from the sea to shore, he dances barefoot on the sand until Thor lifts him high into the air.

 _Mine_ , Loki sings to himself, heart full. _My prince, my world, my Thor_.

“Come,” he says when Thor sets him down, head tossed back, tall and elegant on his long legs. “Let us introduce ourselves to our kingdom.”

And Thor laughs, but Loki only smiles, fingers wrapped tightly around the crown he took from Angrboda’s head.

 It's his world now.


End file.
